


The Little Things

by evermint



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:34:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evermint/pseuds/evermint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot about the little things Eggsy loves about Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> It's official. I've written a Hartwin fic. This is a steep and slippery slope to be on.

It was the little things Eggsy liked about Harry.

He liked that one errant curl of chestnut hair that Harry always had by his temple when removing his glasses after a long day of work.

He liked the way Harry fiddled with that curl when reading the newspaper.

He liked the way Harry would always act annoyed and shoot him glares when he bothered him while Harry worked on the computer but Eggsy knew that he secretly adored the attention.

He would always give in whether it be through Eggsy’s relentless flirting, strategic stroking, or even the occasional playful threat. 

And then there’s that absolutely euphoric way Harry’s eyelashes would tickle his neck as he placed chaste kisses on the hollow of his throat. 

And even though Eggsy couldn’t understand a single word of any foreign language (heck, he could barely speak proper English), he could feel his heart melt when Harry murmured to him in French as he teetered on the brink of sleep.

Then, there would be the times Harry would be so tired after their lovemaking that he would forgo his usual rituals of showering and instead fall asleep, a sheen of sweat across his forehead, with his nose buried in Eggsy’s neck, breathing in the cologne and pheromones. He liked that.

Eggsy loved the feeling of Harry’s answering deep rumble against his chest when he would drag his nails across Harry’s scalp.

He loved it when he could hear Harry sing in Italian when he thinks no one can hear him while taking obscenely long showers. 

And sometimes, he’d catch Harry smiling at him with a distant expression while watching him perform some utterly dull household chore- like washing the dishes or wiping off the table- and he would like nothing more than to kiss those wrinkles that formed on the edges of his weathered brown eyes and that one dimple on his right cheek and the delicious curve of cleanly shaven neck and the small mole only he knew was behind Harry’s left ear. 

It wasn’t long before there was something strangely domestic about their relationship; the way they would wake up, take turns in the bathroom, eat breakfast, and hail a cab to the tailor shop or HQ.

And as much as Eggsy loved those slow days in the shop watching the grey, English clouds and rain pour outside, he equally fancied those rare missions they had together in a foreign country when the stakes were high and the action was intense.

Eggsy loved to watch Harry fight; the older man was a graceful dancer performing a deadly choreography of destruction and always came out the victor.

Except for that one time.

With his knees aching from kneeling by the man’s bedside and a face stained with tears, Eggsy prayed to every God that was out there, refusing to listen to Merlin’s urges even though Harry’s heartbeat had stopped a long while ago. 

Nothing could make him forget the image of the camera feed, splattered in Harry’s blood, as Eggsy watched on helplessly as his mentor, best friend, and lover was killed at the hands of Valentine.

There were flashbacks- of the missions they went on, the heated discussions about the latest episode of Downton Abbey over a late-night glass of whisky, the quiet days spent in the living room reading in each other’s company, the early morning cuddling. 

Eggsy remembered the first time he saw Harry, after bailing him out of jail. He loved the way Harry leaned against the wall, the epitome of calm and cool, in that impeccable suit and flawlessly polished oxfords. 

Now he lay in a crumpled, blood-stained button-down with a bullet through the brain.

And as the smell of bleach assaulted his nose and an overwhelming sense of finality and loss came over him in the blindingly white medical wing, Eggsy realized that he would love nothing more than to hear Harry’s voice once again.


End file.
